


The Curious Case of Ryan Bergara

by graywhatsit



Series: LAB Verse [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Maybe Magic Maybe Mundane, Supernatural!Shane - Freeform, Suspicious!Ryan, because shane's feelings are a mystery even to himself, hints of pining, or i try very hard to be funny anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: "A personality change isn’t something you can address casually or briskly, though; it needs tact.“Ryan?”Ryan doesn’t look up from his screen. “Mhm?” He moves his fingers to type something into the awaiting message box.“What thefuckis wrong with you?”Nailed it."------------------------Ryan's been acting strangely. Shane's had enough.





	The Curious Case of Ryan Bergara

**Author's Note:**

> it feels like i took forever on this one but it was only two weeks??? wow
> 
> this one also went through so many iterations before i was happy
> 
> this is a sequel to Law Abiding Believer, so go read that first!

Ryan has been acting strange, recently.

Well, Ryan _always_ acts strangely; Shane’s been around him long enough and in enough places to know just how odd Ryan can get, especially under stress.

From video shoots to airports, from on location to one of their own homes, Ryan’s just a strange guy. All of his little fears and worries tend to bounce around in an echo chamber somewhere in his brain, and that mounting anxiety can lead to erratic behavior. Erratic like talking to himself and thinking it’s something else, like auditory and visual hallucinations, like the firm, unshakeable belief he carries in his own delusions.

Is Shane a doctor and therefore qualified to diagnose him with any of these things?

No. No, he is not.

Is Shane going to state that everything Ryan swears is proof is just a figment of an overworked mind?

No. Not _everything_ , anyway.

Is Shane worried about him?

… Maybe. But he’s not going to say that, least of all to Ryan.

He’s insufferable enough without knowing that Shane cares about his well-being, even though it’s obvious to anyone who actually _looks_. He wouldn’t take the time to try and snap Ryan out of his panic if he didn’t give a shit.

This, though-- this is _exceptional_.

 

* * *

 

His desk is clean.

“My desk is clean,” Shane says, when he approaches it one morning, because it _is_.

Any papers he may have had are straightened up in a neat stack by his keyboard; the knick-knacks aren’t scattered around and precarious on the edges, instead nice and orderly and underlining his monitors. There aren’t any wrappers or cups, no snacks or office supplies haphazardly taking up room. Everything has a place and everything is _in_ that place.

It’s weird enough that he doesn’t like it. “Why? How?”

“I did it. It’s always a mess.”

Shane turns to look at Ryan, swiveling from side to side in his own chair. He looks too proud of himself. “Okay, but _why_? Also, yours is always terrible, too. Why isn’t yours clean?”

Ryan’s desk is, in fact, not clean. It looks as messy and disorganized as always, which makes it look very similar to Shane’s when it isn’t, you know, meddled with. The realization that they have similar levels of being a slob-- his brain jumps to _compatibility_ and he shuts that right down, because things are strange enough right now-- only compounds just how off this all feels.

“I thought you’d like it? And mine would be clean if I didn’t take that time to clean yours, so-- you’re welcome, I guess.” Ryan shrugs, like he isn’t bothered one way or another what Shane thinks of it, but Shane knows him well enough to see the expectant edge to his expression. It’s the one he gets when he proposes a theory that he thinks is enough for Shane to agree with, for once; when whatever he’s saying is actually grounded in reality and he’s just waiting to hear Shane say _yes, I believe that_.

He rarely ever gets it, but he tries.

Shane sits down in his desk chair, scoots up to a comfortable distance, and looks over his desk again. Is… is it _dusted_? What the hell? “I can’t find anything, Ryan.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

“One of what people?”

Ryan narrows his eyes, fixed in the vague distance, like he’s remembering something. It just makes him look like he’s pissed off at the photos on the support pillar. “Those people that say they have a system to get out of cleaning up their shit. Do not be one of those people, Shane.”

His tone is unexpectedly intense, and Shane watches him in surprise until it clicks into place. “Roland, again?”

“God, _Roland_. But, no. Different roommate.” Ryan continues to glare at nothing in particular, then his eyes snap to Shane’s. “Well?”

“Well…?” Ryan pointedly looks towards his desk, then back. “Oh, uh… yeah, I still can’t find anything.”

Ryan blinks at him. Slowly, he turns back towards his desk, shaking his head.

Shane feels a little like he’s lost the plot on this one, and in his head he files this entire incident under ‘Ryan’s being weird again’. It’s a remarkably big category; at this point, he’s going to need to dump some weird old history facts to make room for it all.

Bye, Ching Shih. Nice knowing you.

 

* * *

  


Ryan has been giving him _fruit_.

It’s not the gifting of something that’s weird. A gift from someone you love-- care about, whatever-- is wonderful, especially when it’s thoughtful and something you might need or want or like. Shane would be more than happy to get a gift from Ryan.

But.

Of all things in the world, out of anything Shane could possibly want and Ryan could possibly procure, he gives him _fruit_.

What the fuck.

“Uh.” Shane moves his head back, going a little cross eyed in order to see what, exactly, Ryan’s holding in front of his nose. It’s red and green, a little speckled, about the size of a baseball. “Why are you holding an apple in front of my face? If you’re trying to be Magritte, you’re a couple decades late, buddy.”

“Magritte? Oh, the apple guy-- no, I’m not!” Ryan wiggles his hand, like he’s about to drop the thing in Shane’s lap if he doesn’t reach out and take it. Because he doesn’t want to take an apple to some particularly sensitive parts, Shane plucks the apple from his hand. “It’s for you. You like apples.”

Shane sets it down on the table, because he doesn’t really want to be holding a piece of fruit if he isn’t going to eat it, and he kind of needs his hands free. “Lots of people do. Popular fruit. Why don’t you give someone else-- maybe someone who actually wants a snack-- an apple?”

Ryan looks at him, bewildered. “Why would I do that?”

Somewhere, between the apple sitting innocently on the table and Ryan looking at him in what seems to be genuine confusion, part of Shane’s brain just quits. “I don’t know, Ryan,” he sighs, wearily. “I really don’t know.”

He gets a banana, already spotting brown, the next day; though Ryan isn’t actually there to hand it over, no one else he knows would just _give_ him food.

Also, it’s sitting on top of a folder, a blue sticky note proclaiming it as _Locations_ , and in smaller print on the same note, _shane seriously read this_. Shane’s no expert on handwriting, despite his keen detective’s mind, but after a few years and a lot of time spent with Ryan, he knows that scrawl anywhere.

He kind of regrets asking to vet upcoming locations, if only to spare his back and sleep schedule, if not his entire well-being, mental and otherwise. It just means more ghost talk, which he’s already nearing his limit for on any given day.

And, apparently, fruit.

Shane steels himself for the upcoming supernatural history synopses and sets the banana aside. It can keep the apple he still hasn’t eaten company while he tries to balance entertainment value with his own sanity.

By the end of the week, he’s in possession of the following:

 

  * One (1) apple, slightly bruised
  * One (1) banana, _very_ bruised
  * One (1) bunch of grapes, exact amount undetermined
  * One (1) avocado, which, while technically a fruit, makes Shane very uncomfortable and isn’t just a thing you give to people to eat as a snack
  * Two (2) clementines, which was three (3) clementines until one rolled away in the general direction of the animators and was promptly and sadly eaten



 

So, he’s got quite the collection going on.

He’s kind of sick of it, to be frank; his entire workspace is starting to smell like sickly sour-sweet garbage, because the heat coming off the computers in close quarters is not doing the shelf life of the fruit any favors.

Shane determines that it needs to go before the weekend starts. He may no longer be welcome in the office, otherwise.

Why not throw it away? It’s the principal of the thing. Ryan put it there, so he should be the one to remove it. A lesson in unwanted gift-giving, or something.

(Privately, he _cannot_ touch that stuff. The banana almost looks like it’ll fall apart if he looks at it wrong.)

“Ryan,” he starts, firmly, because this is going to happen _now_. He swivels in his chair, because dramatics are very important to him.  “This fruit thing has-- what is that?”

Ryan is holding a pear, outstretched, eyes wide. It looks remarkably like the apple did, but, y’know. Pear-shaped, instead. “A pear?”

“Ye- yes, I know that it’s--” Shane sighs, rubs at the corner of his eye. “ _Why_? You already gave me a fruit today. That I didn’t ask for. Like any of the other ones.” Determinedly, he does not reach out to take the offered fruit.

“Well, I had to replace the one that someone ate,” Ryan replies, like that’s the most logical course of action and Shane’s an idiot for not understanding that. It’s a very common tone, between the two of them. He reaches his hand out a little further, but when Shane just stares at it, instead, Ryan sets the pear down near the other fruits. “That wasn’t for them. It was for you.”

Like every last other fruit was. “Ryan. I. Do. Not. Want. Them,” Shane stresses, each word emphasized so Ryan will actually _listen_ , for once. “I have never asked you for a fruit. I never wanted a fruit from you. Stop giving me various fruits-- don’t even give me one _type_ of fruit. Unless I ask you for one, I will beg of you: _stop gifting me fruit_.”

Ryan frowns at him, and his brow is furrowed in confusion. “You… don’t want fruit?”

“ _No_.”

“Huh. Okay.” And then, like that, Ryan just starts picking up fruit, placing it in the crook of his elbow.

What the fuck.

Shane hears Ryan mutter to himself as he tries to balance everything, shuffling the fruits so he doesn’t end up throwing them everywhere. “I could have sworn it said,” and, “I thought that would work,” and _what does that mean_. As he reaches for the banana, sad and dark brown, tucked away behind a little plupple, Ryan actually speaks up so Shane can hear him. “If you don’t want fruit, then, what _do_ you want?”

He must grab the thing too hard, because it squishes in his fingers, mushy pulp breaking through the skin.

They both look down at it.

“Yeah.” Shane grins, because Ryan looks almost _offended_. “I think that works.”

(It’s not nearly as satisfying as Ryan’s look of faint terror, later, when Shane decides to give a hint on the upcoming season of the Hot Daga.

‘A colorful bunch of fresh new friends’, indeed.)

 

* * *

  


Right now, he’s normal, as far as Ryan gets. No fruit, no organization, nothing. Shane can see him in his periphery; he’s still talking to himself, under his breath, headphones placed right over his ears to block out everything else. What few words Shane can manage to make out over the general noise of the office are par for the course, as well: mutterings about whatever he happens to be working on, nothing really important enough to dig any deeper.

Suddenly, he cuts off in the middle of a sentence to himself, and glances-- quick, as if not to get caught-- over at Shane.

Shane doesn’t move his head to look, but keeps watch in the blurry corner of his vision, just beyond his glasses. It’s because of this that he can’t quite make out Ryan’s expression, just a few dark shapes moving in the tan blob of his face out of focus, but he can tell that he’s turned his head a little more.

Just to _stare_ at him.

It’s not that he wouldn’t enjoy the attention, wouldn’t like to maybe catch Ryan’s eye in a way that doesn’t end in an insult. He’s done enough of that, himself.

It’s just that staring? Is kind of creepy.

This has been happening for weeks, in addition to everything else. Ryan will be doing something entirely _normal_ , for him, and drop everything just to turn and watch Shane. Shane’s timed him at a solid three minutes before, and he’s almost tempted to see if Ryan will try and break his record today, but they actually have work to do at some point, and deadline-stressed Ryan is not exactly a joy to be around.

“You need something, Ry?” Shane turns his head in time to see Ryan blink, do that little head shake like he’s not sure what just happened. If this is going to go exactly like the last several times he’s done this, then--

“What? No. I’m just spacing out, I guess.”

Yep. Flimsy excuse.

While normally Shane would love to have this down to a science, the same way he does with Ryan’s reactions to anything “supernatural”, the fact that it involves himself in some way drastically diminishes any enjoyment he could hope to glean from it. However much they play up the vitriol for the camera, Shane doesn’t _actually_ want to be a cause for distress for Ryan.

Especially since he has _no idea why_.

“Directly at me?”

“It isn’t always about you, Shane,” Ryan shoots back. “Your big head was just in the way.”

Shane lets the jibe go; getting to the bottom of this isn’t really worth rising to the insults right now. Besides, Ryan’s already turning back to his computer screen, which means his work will get done and no one will have to deal with an overly-stressed Bergara hanging around the office until the wee hours of the morning.

If this is the weirdest Ryan will get, after everything, Shane can deal with that.

 

* * *

  


Shane can’t deal with this.

But he’s also not quite sure what he can _do_ about it.

He can’t exactly go up to Ryan, tea in hand, and say: “Hey, man, I gotta ask: what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

Well. He _has_ , before. It’s his first reaction whenever Ryan, terrified, skips past the wide-eyed cowering straight into jumping and screaming. It’s half for the laughs and half an honest question, because anything he’s so terrified of is nothing more than empty cobwebs and air, which are not particularly scary.

But he’s not acting _scared_ , he’s just acting… odd. Ramped up from before.

Perhaps he should explain what’s been going on.

After all of the organization, and the gift-giving, and the staring-- good god, the _staring_ \-- Ryan has been doing something else.

He’s completely fine, like, physically, and when he makes a video or a post on whatever social media he’s happening to use at the time, interacting with coworkers, family, friends, fans, he’s the same old Ryan.

And Shane doesn’t even _know_ when this happens, because nothing eventful happens to mark the change. They’re called in to do some project, they do it, finish the rest of their work and go home, like every day.

The next day, Ryan _avoids him like the plague_.

Shane knows Ryan is at work, because he sees him from afar, hears other people talk to him and say his name. If Shane gets anywhere close to him, though, he _vanishes_. No excuse given, no apologies, just straight up power walks away.

It’s actually quite rude, considering Shane has no clue what he did to deserve this treatment, and also they’re _coworkers_ with projects they need to, you know, _discuss_. All professionalism, gone.

He supposes that’s what he gets for working at BuzzFeed.

After a few days of this avoid-Shane-at-all-costs game he’s playing, Ryan does seem to tire of it; he’ll actually sit at his desk next to Shane, now, and not break all known speed records whenever he enters the room, which is an improvement, to say the least.

He doesn’t mention anything that would clue Shane in to why he’s acting like this. He doesn’t even mention it, like it never even happened.

For all intents and purposes, Ryan Bergara is one hundred percent unaware of the fact that-- for one straight work week-- he acted as though his coworker, co-host, _best friend_ was going to _murder him_.

Awfully rich, considering his persistent threatening of Shane’s life. That kind of lack of self-awareness would be commendable, if not for every last thing about the situation.

A personality change isn’t something you can address casually or briskly, though; it needs tact, a certain delicate touch that isn’t overbearing but is direct enough to get to the root cause, with just the right amount of tangible concern to show just how much it needs to be addressed.

“Ryan?”

Ryan doesn’t look up from his screen. “Mhm?” He moves his fingers to type something into the awaiting message box.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Nailed it.

“What?” Ryan sits back, turning to look at Shane with a bewildered expression. “I didn’t do anything-- I’m just answering emails. Am I not allowed to answer emails?”

Shane waves a hand, frowning. “No, not your emails. You should do those. I mean: in general, what is wrong with you?”

Oh, even better. Ryan’s face does not change. “Depends on who you ask, I guess? Li- what the fuck kind of question is that? Do you just go up to people and ask what their problem is, now?”

“No, Ryan.” Shane scoffs, because that’s ridiculous. “I’m not going to go up to someone at random. I’ll only ask when there’s a problem.”

“And you think I have a problem?”

“Obviously.” Honestly, Ryan, _keep up_. “You’ve been acting weird for months, man-- you don’t think that’s a problem? An issue that someone needs to address?”

Ryan crosses his arms; his face is doing a massive downturn into something Shane can only describe as ‘bull-headed’: defensive, stubborn, like he’s ready to throw down if Shane pushes too much. “I haven’t been acting weird. I’ve been acting perfectly fine. Did you ever think that maybe _you_ have the problem?”

“ _Me_? What’re- no.” There are people around, and more than one of them is starting to glance over in a mix of genuine concern and-- once they realize who, exactly, is arguing with whom-- the kind of indulgent amusement Shane knows is going to come with the term ‘like an old married couple’ once they start talking about it.

(Not that he minds, honestly. Being married to Ryan sounds near enough to being friends with him, which he’s generally a fan of.

Ryan’s the one who gets riled up when he hears, and that’s bad enough, already.)

Shane stands up from his chair and reaches down to yank Ryan up to follow him, which is harder than it looks. They are not going to argue in the workplace-- or, at least, they aren’t going to argue in front of their coworkers. “I don’t have a problem,” he continues, pulling Ryan along behind him, looking for a room that is empty and will remain so for however long Ryan decides to drag out this talk.

“Wh- hey, where are you-” Ryan, to his credit, does attempt to wrench his arm out of Shane’s grasp; he very nearly succeeds, given his muscle versus Shane’s lanky self. “It sure seems like you have a fucking problem,” he spits, when Shane shuts the door behind them. They have maybe ten minutes before it’s needed again, but it’s the best they’ve got, because he’s not sure he has the strength to drag Ryan around any further. “You can’t just manhandle me, asshole!”

“Yes, okay, that might’ve been a lot,” Shane concedes, “but I mean it. You keep staring, you’re cleaning up after me, you keep giving me things I in no way ask for or need.” He ticks off each instance on his fingers. “You avoided me for almost a whole _week_ , Ryan! This isn’t like you at all. Is there something going on?”

“There’s nothing going on, Shane,” Ryan starts.

Shane’s kind of tired of him brushing it off. “Ryan, just-- tell me!”

He raises his voice, and the quiet afterwards is almost shocked; he’s not a particularly loud man, most of the time, and prefers to keep to a more tolerable, even level when he speaks. Ryan, who’s been around him the most when he _does_ yell, usually in the bleak, dark halls of some investigation, looks surprised, as well. “Did something happen? Was-- was it _me_? I mean, I know sometimes we argue, even just between us, but I don’t want to make you angry or upset.”

Ryan shuffles, not looking at Shane, visibly uncomfortable. _Yeah_ , Shane thinks. _Me too, buddy._ “Okay, fine! It-- okay, just hear me out, alright?”

He’s more than happy to just get this over with. Shane nods.

“I was doing it because I was trying to make you not mad?” Ryan winces. “I know I’ve been kinda shitty since… _forever_ , so I was trying to make up for it. Doing you favors, and stuff.”

Shane stares at him, mystified. Sure, sometimes Ryan can get on his nerves. Their bickering can get annoying, his sheer lack of logical thought is frustrating, and being busy, different men in such close quarters can sometimes lead to someone actually snapping, but Shane’s not one to hold a grudge. It’s part and parcel of their relationship-- professional, personal, what have you-- that all of that blows over in a matter of seconds, leaving them back at square one, ready to start all over again. “I was never _mad_ at you, Ryan. What are you talking about?”

“Are you serious? You come up with the Hot Daga as some kind of cosmic punishment for me and you tell me you were never angry with me?”

“Cosmic punishment…?” Shane gets no time to dwell on that, because Ryan’s off again.

“I broke so many _rules_.” He’s pacing around in a way Shane usually only sees when Ryan’s terrified, using up nervous energy to try and keep his cool. “I told you my name, I took your food, I’m always rude; I even--” At that, he clams up, pursing his lips; though he’s dark skinned and therefore it’s a little hard to tell, sometimes, he looks positively red. “Oh, god, that sounds-- oh my god, just ignore… all of that.”

Like hell he’s going to ignore whatever the fuck is going on here. “What rules?” When Ryan doesn’t answer, Shane steps in a little closer, cautiously. “Ry? What rules are you talking about?”

“Trust me, man, you’ll think it’s really stupid. Like, even for me.”

He thinks a lot of things Ryan says are really stupid, and he tells him that outright, but if it’s bothering him this badly-- enough to make him act this strange for months and then deny everything when confronted about it-- he’ll at least _listen_. “Try me?”

Ryan finally looks at him-- well, it’s not a look. It’s a capital L Look, Jim on _The Office_ Look, like he’s regretting saying anything before he even says it, like _Shane’s_ going to regret asking. He breathes in, slowly, through his nose, and closes his eyes when he lets it out. “I…” He shakes his head. “Jesus Christ. So, you’re really strange, okay?”

“Uh…” Shane blinks at him. “Okay, thanks? I don’t see what that--”

Ryan raises a hand to interrupt him. “Just-- go with me! So,” he continues, when he’s satisfied that Shane isn’t going to talk while he’s explaining, “you’re weird, and a lot of people maybe think that, for whatever reason, you aren’t a human being.”

“The demon thing, or whatever?”

Ryan nods. “Yeah. But you aren’t, obviously.”

There’s a wave of relief washing over him, and Shane doesn’t bother to keep that hidden. “Thank god you don’t believe that. For once, _for once,_ you and I can agree that there is nothing supernatural going on, here.”

“Well…” Ryan’s voice squeaks up on the word, sheepish. “You aren’t a demon, but…”

“Ryan,” Shane says, warningly. The nice, wonderful, freeing relief is so close to being washed away and he is not letting it go that easily. “Do _not_.”

“At this point, with everything I know about you, maybe I’m thinking you’re some kind of trickster spirit,” Ryan blurts, an avalanche of words that takes Shane a few seconds to make sense of. “And, really, if you’ll let me get into my reasons--”

Shane… kind of gives up.

“Un _believable_.” He steps back from Ryan, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You’re doing weird shit none of us can make sense of, I worried about you for _months_ , and you’ve been like this because you think I’m some kind of _ghost_?”

“No, not a ghost, you aren’t dead. I mean some kind of preternatural-- wait a second.” Ryan _stares_ at him, shocked. “You were _worried_ about me?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re getting out of this?” Shane’s a little too incensed to worry about showing his hand and the future shit he’s going to get from Ryan for _caring_ , of all things. “You’ve lost your mind! I’m nothing like one of those things, because this is all _bullshit_ , Ryan! None of it’s real!”

“I thought Fae beings were fake, too, but then you started _knowing_ things, and getting out of locked rooms, and--”

_Fae beings_. Good lord. “No. Nope. I’m done, I’m leaving.” Shane turns on his heel, opening the door to a rather surprised-looking producer. He brushes by her. “Excuse me.”

“Shane!”

Shane steadfastly ignores Ryan calling for him, setting off into the twisting halls of the office. It’s the middle of the day, which means he can’t drink to forget and really needs to go back to his desk and get work done, but Ryan’s gone to a whole new level and he can’t deal with this right now.

Trickster spirit, what absolute _horseshit_.

If anything, he’s a trickster _god_.

Rude.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> is shane just being sarcastic again?
> 
> or was he a powerful being all this time?
> 
> (trick question: he's powerful because of his sarcasm and nothing else. Nothing. Else.)
> 
> visit me at https://itsme-yademon.tumblr.com/


End file.
